Just you and me, and the stars
by sycamoretree
Summary: John is enjoying his book when Sherlock interrupts but as it turns out, the evening gets pleasant. Second installment of my theme about Retired Sherlock/John. Established relationship. Romantic and happy fluff.


**So, after the positive receiving of my first Retired Sherlock/John story, I felt confident enough to create more works for that time in their lives. It's going to be an all the year round theme, and since it was summer in "A rose in our garden", this one inevitably takes place in the autumn. Hope you like.  
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**Just you and me, and the stars**

It was a quiet evening. John sat in his favorite armchair in the living room with a book he hadn't read before. Of course he should have known better than to think the moment of stillness would go on interrupted.

A door slamming shut startled him and the sound was followed by a chilling breeze which travelled through the house and made him shiver despite the blanket over his legs. He closed his eyes and knew what was coming since he has spent most of his adult life living with a demanding, attention-seeking detective.

"John." Feet stomping in the hallway and then approaching the living room.

John wouldn't care. He would keep on reading because he was really content in his armchair.

"John."

John burrowed down in the cushions, frowning at the pages. "John. John."

"John. John. John."

He refused to look away from the book but his concentration was waning fast. Then his beloved, darling husband stepped into the living room wearing a coat which was thicker than the usual sort he favoured, black gloves, a woolen beanie, and a purple scarf secured around his neck. Sherlock Holmes had arrived, bringing noises and chaos.

John didn't acknowledge him and instead began to mumble the words to himself to make Sherlock hopefully take a hint.

"_But young Carolyn could not understand why anyone would want to murder her…"_

"John."

John sat up straight, gave up, and put down the book. He met Sherlock's eyes and with one look made the intruding man cower a little.

"What is it, my dear?" he asked tightly and saw Sherlock's jaw work anxiously before he decided to have mercy with him, if nothing else because he was curious to why his husband had stormed in like this.

John got up from the warm seat and went to the other side of the room where Sherlock stood tall and black like death himself, only, John knew better than anyone how warm and loving this man was. A glove reached for him. "Come with me."

Not able to hide the grin any longer, John took the hand and wove his fingers through Sherlock's as the detective guided him to the hallway.

"Here. This is the most appropriate coat for you. It's cold tonight," Sherlock said and held up his parka so John could basically step into it without much fuss, though he did slap away Sherlock's ravenous hands when the detective made an attempt to feel him up.

"I was only going to help button it up," came a disappointed comment and John turned around with feigned sympathy. "Sorry, love. I know how to do it. I've had plenty of practice buttoning_ and_ unbuttoning clothes through the years."

With a cheeky wink, he brushed past the bewildered man and grabbed his own gloves on the way out. His parka had a hood so he left his hat inside.

It turned out Sherlock was right. It was cold outside and smoke appeared in the air when John exhaled. The winter was on its way but the autumn had been nice so far. Even this night, no cruel wind blew and the darkness was calm, not threatening.

Like a soldier testing the ground in a mine field, John stretched out one leg carefully and was about to tap it on the first stone of the path leading down to the front gate to see if there was ice when an arm went around his and he was forced to turn a sharp left and move with his impatient husband, who surely had memorized a safe route for them before he went in to get John. They could do without tripping in the dark.

"Okay, what's going to happen?" John said a bit wearily as the two of them padded around the cottage and into the bigger garden. Then, judging by the faint light coming from the windows and his still alright sight, John discovered a big heap of leaves on the grass he was certain he hadn't raked earlier this day.

Without explaining, Sherlock plopped down on the heap, never bothering to pretend to be a dignified man in his sixties when they were alone, and tugged at John's hand. "Come down here."

John followed and managed to lower himself onto the leaves without trouble, especially after Sherlock offered a steadying hand in the crucial point between bending the knees and placing the weight on the bottom until it landed in the heap. The dry leaves had an earthy smell and they rustled when John lay down like Sherlock and got surprisingly comfortable. He let his head fall to the side.

"No pillow for your head?" he wondered upon noticing that whereas his hood let his head rest on soft material, Sherlock didn't have the same comfort. Sherlock irritatingly pointed at his beanie.

"This makes sure no leaf gets in my hair, and the accurate arrangement of the heap should provide enough support for my head."

John shook his head in amusement. "What about the awkward angle for your bare neck? Come here," he murmured tenderly and nudged Sherlock's head up before slipping in the arm so his husband could rest his neck against it. Sherlock settled against the elbow and sighed dramatically but John knew he was comfortable. Then they fell silent and looked up at the starlit sky.

One thing among many John liked with living in the countryside was the frequently clear, cloudless nights and the way the stars were far easier to spot than they had been in London. He pointed this out to Sherlock.

"They shine with brighter light out here than they ever did in the city."

Sherlock interjected, "Actually you are wrong there, because they have shone with mainly the same level of light for light-years. It was only the lights of the city that prevented us from seeing the stars as clear as we do…"

"Shut up. You know that's what I meant," John chuckled and reached with his free hand across his chest and caressed Sherlock's warm cheeks lovingly before he lay back down.

As the minutes passed and they viewed the mute spectacle above, nostalgia over their former lifestyle washed over John. Maybe he was only getting sentimental, but he found that he had to speak.

"Do you ever miss London?" he whispered carefully.

"We're not in exile thousands of miles away from the city. We can visit it soon if you want to," Sherlock replied with ease and erased John's melancholy with his sane logic.

"I think I'd like that. We can buy some Christmas presents to each other while we're there. And maybe eat at one of our old places." John smiled to himself as fond memories filled him.

"And perhaps pop into Bart's?" Sherlock added with expectation which earned him a kiss on the temple. John shifted to lie on his side and placed his free elbow on Sherlock's chest.

"Of course. I'll clear a shelf in the fridge so you can keep whatever you're going to smuggle out in a good environment. And what about Scotland Yar…"

Iceblue, piercing eyes focused on him and Sherlock's usually inviting lips became a thin line. "No."

John frowned and raised his head. "But I thought you'd love to see the place again."

Sherlock's tense features softened and he stroked the tip of John's nose. "Is it irrational of me to not wish to return there because that was then and I'm retired now? The work is in the past and I don't want my feelings for the establishment lessen if I see the state of it nowadays when I'm not around."

Sherlock squeezed John's chin and John started to suspect Sherlock was in fact, under the cover of loving touches, warming his bare face since the rest of him was free from cold thanks to him half-lying on Sherlock.

"I don't want to risk getting caught up in another case when I'm supposed to be with you. I retired for a reason; so I could spend as much time as possible with you. I don't want more cases besides simple ones in the village."

John breathed in the smoke that came from Sherlock's mouth and nodded.

"I understand. I guess Scotland Yard wouldn't feel the same when we probably don't know the name of anyone who works there now. Still, London is the best city I've been to in my entire life."

Sherlock brightened and that glint which John adored appeared in his eyes. "It rather was _our_ city, wasn't it?"

As Sherlock snuggled closer and pressed one leg between John's to keep warmer, John nuzzled a few black and grey curls that peeked out from under the beanie. At length, when his husband didn't move, John whispered under the stars, "Sherlock, my love?"

"Mhmm?" a sleepy sound came as reply. John felt compelled to shake him a bit.

"Sweetheart, we can't sleep out here even if you exhausted yourself to make the most prefect heap. We're too old to sleep on the ground in the autumn." With a tiny protesting moan, Sherlock lifted his head and clung to John as he sat up. John rolled his shoulders to chase away the stiffness and used Sherlock's strong back for support when he got up on his feet, oddly enough feeling both tired and invigorated after the cuddling in the heap of leaves.

Sherlock hung his head, sagged, and looked very much ready for bed. John cocked his head to the side as he studied his husband.

"I'm sorry; you have to get back to the house on your own accord. I can't carry you anymore," John smiled and stomped on the spot to work some warmth into his toes. At that, Sherlock transformed and hopped up, lithe like a cat, though his movements were measured. Despite all the running in his younger years, even the great Sherlock couldn't evade aging.

As John squinted up at him, he thought he could detect some melancholy in his face, too, which made him worried. One thing was he sure of, however. The playful Sherlock who had brought him outside earlier hadn't meant for the stargazing to end with depression that a time in their life was irrevocably over.

With an elegant motion, Sherlock pushed the hood down and then bent down and brushed his cool lips over John's in that way he only kissed when he was completely okay. John shuddered and arched into his tall form.

"It's alright, John. As long as you are by my side, everything is fine. I need you so much," his husband mumbled with honesty and made John obsessed with the thought of devouring Sherlock's neck once they went inside. He wrapped an arm around Sherlock's waist and together they made their way back, as silent as the nature around them.

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**I got teary-eyed at my own writing. Damn Johnlock for being so perfect even when they are older! How do you feel? What did you think of the story? Send me a review.**


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